


Chypre

by kmo



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Backstory, F/M, Ficlet, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 08:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3168914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmo/pseuds/kmo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perfume is a very intimate gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chypre

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MamaMystique](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MamaMystique/gifts).



> From the tumblr prompt, "Petrichor."
> 
> Also inspired by [this amazing post](http://hannibalmeta.tumblr.com/post/50962098657/halfhardtorock-i-have-this-thing-for-perfume) about _Hannibal_ and fragrance. 

It was their first session together since Bedelia had agreed to resume Hannibal’s therapy. Her first time assuming the role of healer since she had broken the cardinal rule of medicine.

At the end of their hour, instead of rising to leave, Hannibal says, “I have something for you.” He reaches into his briefcase and produces an elegantly wrapped ivory and claret box.

“Hannibal, you know that as your psychiatrist I cannot accept gifts,” Bedelia tells him politely.

“This is not a gift to you as my psychiatrist. This is to you as a person. You have been through a very trying ordeal.”

At his words, blood pools on the floor and splatters on the wall in Pollack-esque streaks. Bedelia blinks and the carnage vanishes. “I’m aware,” she says as evenly and as neutrally as possible, trying to sound more like a professional and less like a textbook example of post-traumatic stress disorder .“Still, if we are to resume our therapeutic work together, you know I cannot allow this.”

“If I promise you that I did not spend any money on this gift, will you accept it?”

There is no saying “no” to Hannibal, not to resuming his therapy, not now. Bedelia feels him reach out, and bend her will, ever-so-gently. It bruises her somewhere inside. “If you insist.” She extends her hand.

Hannibal is delighted, a schoolchild on Christmas morning.

Bedelia unwraps the present deftly, small and oddly heavy, the paper thick and covered in gilt arabesques. She opens the box and pulls out a cut-glass bottle filled with amber liquid. “Perfume is a very…intimate…gift,” she says carefully.

“It belonged to my late Aunt Murasaki. Her signature fragrance, a rare vintage scent. I inherited it along with the rest of her personal effects when she passed two years ago.”

“The aunt that you had unrequited romantic feelings for.” Bedelia files this away, fodder for future therapy sessions.

Her pointed observation fails to so much as wrinkle his person-suit. “Murasaki was a complex woman. Effortlessly elegant, unfailingly polite, and not afraid to defend herself when in danger.” Hannibal pauses, his brown eyes are molten-chocolate soft. “You remind me of her.”

Bedelia composes her demurral with gentleness and care. “But surely there is another woman of your acquaintance more…worthy…of so sentimental a gift.”

“There is not,” Hannibal asserts, firmly matter of fact. “Vintage scents are very distinctive, much more byzantine than the overly fruity bubblegum concoctions modern women wear. It would take a woman of a certain…gravity…to carry it off properly.”

“Me.”

“Precisely,” he says with all the alacrity of a cat pouncing on a mouse. “Please, humor me and try it. If you find you do not like it, I will understand.”

Bedelia removes the stopper from the bottle and inhales. The first notes are light and floral—rose and sharp citrus, lilac and bergamot. But underneath she detects something dark and mossy. In spite of herself, she is enchanted. “It smells like a garden in the rain.”

Hannibal smiles, pleased. “If you’ll allow me.”

He crosses over to the side of her chair and takes the stopper from her. Obediently, she pulls back the sleeves of her suit jacket and presents him with the tender underside of her wrists. “Perfume is as singular as the person who wears it, interacting with each individual’s body chemistry in a unique way.  What is beguiling on you, would smell musty or sour on another.” Hannibal anoints her pulse points with perfume, her wrists first, then the bare skin of her neck, dangerously near to the red, still sensitive flesh of her scar. Her pulse quickens, her skin tingles, as if magnetized to his touch. “Your blood rises to the surface of your skin and heats the chemical compounds. The top notes, usually florals, are released first. In an older blend such as this one, it can take hours for the mystery of the fragrance to fully reveal itself.”

Rose petals and the zest of blood orange rain down on her. Blossoms of lilac and ylang-ylang hang suspended in the air, the barest tease of sandalwood beneath.  The smell is enthralling, captivating. It envelops her like a silken shroud. “It’s fragile…yet bewitching. Somber, too. Like something out of another time.”

Hannibal closes his eyes and inhales. When he opens them they are dark and glassy. “I take it that you like the perfume,” he says with a sad little smile.

“I do. It’s a very thoughtful gift,” she says in all honesty. “But it must be the last one you ever give me. I can’t allow you to make a habit of this.”

“Of course, Dr. Du Maurier,” Hannibal says, suitably chastened. “Thank you for letting me breach therapeutic boundaries, just this once. And thank you for resuming our sessions.”

Bedelia escorts him to the door, a cloud of floral mist following in her wake. “Thank you for the perfume. Until next week.”

It’s not until hours after he’s gone and the dark, damp bass notes of oakmoss and vetiver have surfaced that Bedelia realizes the terrifyingly bespoke nature of Hannibal’s gift. She is alone in her house, resplendent in scents of faded decadence and lingering decay. All too fitting a fragrance for a doctor who murdered a patient. 

**Author's Note:**

> Bedelia’s perfume is slightly inspired by [Guerlain’s Mitsouko ](http://www.fragrantica.com/perfume/Guerlain/Mitsouko-Eau-de-Toilette-207.html),a classic but somewhat polarizing fragrance. 
> 
> I am a total perfume novice, so I depended a lot on Fragrantica.com to help me research this fic. _Chypre_ is used to classify perfumes that are primarily woodsy or earthy. They are considered to be androgynous scents and can be worn by either men or women.


End file.
